


A Good Time To Be Happy

by softestpunk



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Trans Character, guess which one, it's Elihal and I almost consider that canon tbh, that's it that's really all that happens in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 08:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15215258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/softestpunk
Summary: It isn'teveryday Éibhear Hattori gets approached by a particularly forward elf in a tavern, but perhaps not every day has to be the same. Perhaps now is a good time to be happy.





	A Good Time To Be Happy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quills_at_dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quills_at_dawn/gifts).



> [quills_at_dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quills_at_dawn/pseuds/quills_at_dawn) went and mentioned the possibility of Éibhear/Elihal in I think maybe three sentences in the second chapter of [The Squirrel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709239/chapters/33993176) and my brain... ran with it. This isn't remotely like that, but you should read their fic anyway if you like politics and elves (seriously read it it's GOOD).

“What in the world is a beautiful elf like you doing drinking alone?”

Éibhear looked up from the light ale he’d been nursing for… most of the evening to see another elf settling down across from him, apparently unconcerned with niceties like asking if he wanted company before providing it.

They were wearing a beautifully-tailored dress, but in a distinctly human style, and with a face covered in makeup, but…

Well, perhaps it wasn’t Éibhear’s place to decide whether or not they were a woman.

“Elihal,” the other elf offered, extending an elegant hand across the table.

Éibhear hesitated, and then shook it with his much broader, rougher one.

He was always self-conscious around other elves. He wasn’t nearly delicate enough for them, too broad in the shoulders, too muscular, his chosen profession shunned by his people, few of whom saw much value in good steel. Anything larger than a dagger was a waste to most elves.

Although, this one _had_ already called him beautiful. And he vaguely recognised that name, though he couldn’t immediately place it.

Novigrad was a large city. Even the relatively small number of elves couldn’t possibly all have known each other.

And besides, they were prone to saying he had more in common with a dwarf. Which was perhaps true in all things except height and ability to grow a beard.

“Éibhear,” he offered after a moment.

“I know,” Elihal said. “You’re quite famous. Swordsmith to Geralt of Rivia.”

“Ah,” Éibhear said, beginning to understand what was going on here. “We have a mutual friend, then.”

“Well, we each have a friend who knows one of the other’s friends, in any case,” Elihal said. “I am happy to admit to the flimsiness of the connection. Perhaps we could strengthen it?”

Éibhear wet his lips. He wasn’t much used to _anyone_ wanting to talk to him. His existence was mostly solitary, and while he wouldn’t quite have claimed to _like_ it, he was certainly used to it.

“Did you need… something, from me?” he asked, unsure why someone so pretty and confident would feel the need to approach him if not on business.

“I think I’d enjoy your company,” Elihal said, reaching out to brush their fingers against Éibhear’s hand. “If you’re willing to share it.”

“I… that is, I, umm…” Éibhear stuttered, unsure exactly how to respond.

Elihal beamed at him. “You are _delightfully_ shy.”

The tips of Éibhear’s ears burned with embarrassment. Elihal tutted sympathetically.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Elihal said softly, still making the barest contact with Éibhear’s hand. “I like shy. Watching a beautiful flower bloom under your touch is wonderfully rewarding.”

Blood pounded in Éibhear’s ears. Was he… was he being propositioned?

It had been so long that he’d forgotten what that was like. A warm tendril of arousal curled itself around his belly, making it feel uncomfortably tight.

“I’m… not much of a gardener,” Éibhear said, blood still pounding in his ears, and he _knew_ how stupid he sounded, but he couldn’t concentrate past the brush of soft, delicate fingers against his own rough ones, so touch-starved that this tiny amount of contact was enough to rob him of the power of speech.

Elihal laughed, and it was a wonderful sound, and Éibhear blushed all over again.

“Beautiful _and_ witty, be still my beating heart.”

Elihal’s fingers withdrew, and while Éibhear was glad of the chance to gather his thoughts, he instantly missed the contact.

“Normally I wouldn’t have any trouble telling this for myself, but I think I should ask if my presence is unwelcome,” Elihal said softly.

Éibhear looked up, fear that Elihal would _leave_ gripping his chest.

Well, that told him everything he needed to know about whether or not he was interested, didn’t it?

“Stay,” he said. “Forgive me, I don’t… often keep company. At all.”

“Shy,” Elihal repeated, as though it was one of the greatest virtues a person could possess. “As long as I’m not bothering you.”

Éibhear shook his head. “Not at all. Not in the least.”

His brain _finally_ provided him with where he knew Elihal’s name from. “Elihal the tailor, yes?”

Elihal’s warm brown eyes lit up with joy. “I’m surprised you’ve heard of me. You don’t seem like the kind of man who has much need for one.”

Éibhear wasn’t sure that was a compliment, but it wasn’t spoken like an insult, at any rate.

“I’m afraid I don’t. I hope the state of my clothes is forgivable to someone with such a famously refined sense of style.”

Elihal’s fingers returned to Éibhear’s, stroking gently again. “They will make no difference to me once they’re on the floor.”

Éibhear’s ears burned all over again, his face so hot that he had to stare down at the table, though he knew he couldn’t possibly avoid giving away his embarrassment.

So. He _was_ being propositioned.

His head spun at the thought. No one… no one _ever_ …

Gods, did he even want that? Elihal seemed charming enough, but this was a practical stranger. One who had, admittedly, approached him and showered him with compliments, but…

But he wasn’t _ready_ , and though it seemed like a great shame to let the chance pass him by…

“Ah,” Elihal said. “I see you will require a softer approach. You would prefer I took my time.”

Blood rushed in Éibhear’s ears, and he forced himself to look up again.

Elihal wasn’t walking away. That was… unexpected.

“Why me?” Éibhear asked, finally confused enough by the entire situation to ask.

Elihal’s eyes sparkled. “Why _not_ you? You are stunningly beautiful, there isn’t an ounce of pretense in you, and you haven’t shooed me away yet.”

Éibhear blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him for a moment to _shoo_ Elihal, for the same reason he wouldn’t have shooed a butterfly. The other elf’s presence felt, more than anything, like a gift.

“You are worth patience,” Elihal said softly. “I would beg forgiveness for being so forward, but I’m afraid I’m not sorry at all. I see no reason to lie to you about what I want. But I _will_ wait for it, if you aren’t opposed…?”

Éibhear shook his head. “Not opposed,” he confirmed, a shiver of excitement running down his back.

Elihal lit up again, bright and excitable, and Éibhear decided he’d said the right thing.

“Good. Should I remove my hand?” Elihal asked.

Éibhear wet his lips. “No,” he said. “No, it's fine where it is.”

***

After a pleasant evening of talking about nothing in particular, Éibhear Hattori never really expected to see Elihal again.

He was surprised, then, when the other elf appeared outside his workshop as he was finishing up for the day.

Wearing a quilted doublet, this time, and exceptionally well-tailored trousers.

Not that Éibhear was looking, obviously. Though he had done a _lot_ of thinking over the course of the day.

“I hope I'm not interrupting,” Elihal said, voice a little deeper than last night.

“Not at all. Although you may wish to keep your distance until I’ve had a chance to bathe.”

Elihal looked him up and down, and then shrugged elegantly. “I really don’t mind.”

Éibhear believed that. He believed that, for whatever reason, Elihal genuinely wanted his company and would put up with the sweat and soot that came with it.

He couldn't see _why_ , but Elihal had no other reason to approach him twice, or lie to him. Éibhear already knew what they wanted from him. They’d been nothing short of startlingly direct.

“I didn't mind the dress, for the record,” he said. After the initial confusion, he’d decided it really didn't matter.

“I'm gratified to hear it,” Elihal said. “But I don't always wear them. Some days, I like to be taken for a woman. Others, a man. And then sometimes I like to go out of my way to stop people pinning me down as either.”

“And today…?” Éibhear asked, unsure if it was the right question.

“A man,” Elihal responded, raising an eyebrow. “I _am_ a man, regardless of my outfit. You ask as though it isn't obvious.”

Éibhear shrugged, a blush colouring his cheeks. “You have just told me you like to confuse people. I’d prefer not to make assumptions.”

Elihal hummed, looking him up and down again. Éibhear could feel his gaze like a physical thing, weight and heat behind it.

“You are more delightful every time I see you,” he said, awe in his voice. “And uncommonly insightful.”

Éibhear blushed all over again. He was beginning to suspect he’d have to get used to that around Elihal.

“I don't wish to insult you,” he said. “That's all.”

“ _And_ so humble,” Elihal responded. “You really are something special. A rare jewel.”

Éibhear snorted as he removed his leather apron. “I _do_ look like something out of the depths of a mountain at the moment,” he allowed.

“Come walk with me,” Elihal asked, though it was very nearly a demand. For all that his voice was soft and his manner was elegant, he was a forceful creature.

Éibhear didn't mind that at all. He’d always been drawn to confidence, and Elihal had more of it than most.

“All right,” he agreed, taking Elihal’s offered arm and letting him lead the way.

They walked in silence for a while, heading down past the docks to where the river opened up, apparently with no particular destination in mind. Éibhear didn't mind that, either. While the light was failing and he would generally have preferred not to walk the streets of Novigrad after dark, something about Elihal’s sheer confidence made him feel safe.

That he should feel protected by a smaller, younger elf was perhaps a cause for concern, but Éibhear had never made any claim to great courage.

Elihal, on the other hand, had been in the rougher part of town, in a dress, without even attempting to hide his ears. And he hadn't looked worried for a single moment.

“What brought you to Novigrad?” Elihal asked.

“Opportunity,” Éibhear said. “The chance to ply my trade in a place where people might appreciate it. When I came here, I even believed this was a place where I might simply be able to live my life in relative peace.”

“How long have you been here?”

Éibhear smiled wryly. “Long enough that it _was_ safe when I arrived. What about you? What brought you here?”

“More or less the same. I'm not cut out for shooting Temerians from trees,” he said.

Éibhear laughed at that. “You could kill them with a look.”

“I certainly have no trouble bringing them to their knees,” Elihal responded, a smirk playing around his lips.

Éibhear didn't doubt that for a moment.

Warmth bloomed unexpectedly in the pit of his stomach, the same soft tug of arousal he’d felt yesterday evening.

It had been a long time since he’d felt anything like that, and despite his nerves, despite his unsureness, Éibhear wanted more of it. More of Elihal’s company, more of his warmth and confidence.

“I believe you,” Éibhear said after a moment. Torches were being lit by dark-clad Nilfgaardian soldiers, which was at least a nice change from Radovid’s men.

Emhyr var Emreis was almost certainly not a nice man, but he did seem to be both sane and competent. His cruelty was tempered by reason. There was _less_ to fear now than there had been.

Perhaps it was a good time to begin… whatever this was. Without the constant fear of the pyres hanging over them. Perhaps it was a good time to be happy.

“And you do not judge me,” Elihal said. “You're turning out to be quite the puzzle.”

“I still don't understand why you’d come to me,” Éibhear responded.

“It isn't enough to find you interesting? You do beautiful work. There is a charming sense of humour lurking under that nervous outer layer. You are stunningly attractive. I might wonder why you bother to indulge _me_.”

“I am not exactly the pinnacle of elven beauty,” Éibhear said. He’d seen beautiful elves, and he was _not_ one of them. Elihal, on the other hand, _was_.

“Elven, no. But elven beauty is a limited scope through which to view all possible beauty. Are you afraid I might be insincere?”

Éibhear swallowed. “Yes,” he said quietly. “But not because you have given me that impression.”

“Because you are simply afraid,” Elihal said. “Would it make more sense to you that what I see in you is that you are _unusual_ , and I am unusual, and perhaps, between the two of us, we might have some common ground? Or uncommon ground, as it were.”

“That…” Éibhear swallowed. “I think I could see that.”

Elihal hummed softly. “Good. Then you finally understand my motivations.”

Éibhear wasn’t sure he’d go _that_ far, but it did soothe some of his nerves. Enough to let him relax just a little.

Elihal’s gentle grip on Éibhear’s arm shifted, his soft fingers exploring the shapes of the muscles there. “You seem like you’d have no trouble at all drawing a bow,” he said after a moment.

“Drawing, no,” Éibhear said. “But my eyesight isn’t nearly good enough to be useful once I’ve drawn it. At ten paces, things start getting blurry. At fifty, I’d have trouble telling the difference between a human and a deer.”

Elihal hummed at that. “Alchemists make lenses to correct that,” he said. “I have a pair that allow me to see fine details more closely than would otherwise be possible.”

“What use would I have for them? I can see well enough to get around, and they’d only fall off while I worked.” Éibhear shrugged.

He realised a moment later that he’d obviously gotten comfortable with Elihal at some point, because he was _arguing_. Not in the sense of having an argument, but in the sense that he wasn’t simply agreeing with everything the other elf said.

It took him far too long to realise that they’d circled back around to his workshop, and when he saw it coming into view, his heart sank a little.

He’d been enjoying Elihal’s company, and their evening was clearly coming to a close.

Unless…

Éibhear swallowed. No. Not yet, not now. He wasn’t in the habit of intimacy with practical strangers, and he wasn’t about to start now. He _liked_ Elihal, but he’d have to know the other elf better before he’d be entirely comfortable with that.

As much as the thought appealed to him, the last thing he wanted to do was get to the moment where he had to commit and then have to scramble away and apologise. He would _lose_ this if he did that, and he didn’t want to lose it.

“I thought it would be polite to walk you home,” Elihal said.

“Are you sure it’s safe for _you_ to return in the dark?” Éibhear asked. He was imposing even for a human, but Elihal wasn’t. Tall enough, but narrowly built and fine-featured.

Elihal smiled at him. “It’s never been a problem before, but I’m touched by your concern. No,” he murmured, sliding his hand along Éibhear’s arm and clasping their fingers together, a shockingly tender gesture that made Éibhear’s breath hitch. “Much as I would like to feign the need for protection from the city after dark and use it as an excuse to climb into your bed tonight, I will not take advantage of your good nature.”

Éibhear swallowed. Elihal was somehow still interested in him, interested enough to go to the trouble of waiting.

His heart fluttered at the thought.

Elihal darted in, almost pressing his lips to the shell of Éibhear’s ear. “But I will eventually have you, my dear, sweet blacksmith,” he murmured, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there.

His lips brushed Éibhear’s cheek as he withdrew, and before Éibhear was done recovering from the sudden furnace of arousal settling in his gut, Elihal was across the square and disappearing into the dark with a cheerful wave.

Éibhear swallowed down the need building in his throat, and headed inside.

He had absolutely no doubt that Elihal _would_ have him, eventually, and that he’d enjoy every minute of it.

***

For the next week, Elihal turned up on Éibhear’s doorstep just as the light was beginning to fail, in costumes of varying levels of elaborateness, and every evening, Éibhear was just that little bit more delighted to see him.

So when he failed to show up on the eighth day in a row, Éibhear sought him out instead. He remembered Elihal mentioning his friendship with Dandelion, the owner of the former Rosemary and Thyme--now The Chameleon--and Dandelion was helpful enough to offer directions to Elihal’s workshop.

Not without a lot of winking and grinning, but then… he wasn’t _wrong_ about Éibhear’s feelings or intentions, so aside from the embarrassment, Éibhear couldn’t really fault him.

The faintest glow of a candle through the window made Éibhear breathe a sigh of relief as he approached the small dwelling he’d been directed to. Elihal was all right. He hadn’t been accosted in a dark alley somewhere on his way.

Elihal answered the door looking pale and drawn, but smiled broadly when he saw Éibhear on the other side.

“Oh,” he said. “I… come in.”

Éibhear slipped past him, looking around the front room of Elihal’s home with great interest, taking in mannequins and stacks of fabric samples and piecing together more of Elihal’s life and work with every square foot he looked over.

“I was worried,” Éibhear explained once he remembered that he’d turned up on Elihal’s doorstep panting faintly. He looked closely at the other elf again. “You seem ill.”

Elihal smiled wryly. “In a manner of speaking,” he said. “I am, uh, bleeding.”

Éibhear took several seconds to absorb what he was being told, and then understanding dawned over him like daybreak.

“Oh,” he said, eyes widening. “ _Oh_.”

“I suppose this would have come up eventually,” he said, unsure for the first time. “I had imagined you overcome with lust at the time and therefore not terribly concerned one way or another.”

“I didn’t realise you were so young,” Éibhear said, since it was the first thing that came to mind.

Elihal laughed, and the sound soothed the last of the worry that had been sitting uncomfortably in Éibhear’s gut since he’d first realised that Elihal was late.

“I’m not _that_ young,” Elihal said. “I am firmly in my fifties.”

“I’m a hundred and twenty years old,” Éibhear said, suddenly afraid that Elihal would reject him on that basis. Fifty _was_ young, for an elf.

Instead, Elihal’s eyes lit up. “I appreciate experience,” he said. “It hasn’t occurred to you for a moment to be disgusted, has it?”

Éibhear blinked at him. “Of course not. Why should I be?”

Elihal sighed softly, but it was a warm, contented sound, if a little tired. “I hope you will forgive me if I sit,” he said, settling at the small table off to the side of the room. “I wasn’t up to walking tonight. I wasn’t sure you’d miss me.”

“I was afraid,” Éibhear said. “Which won’t surprise you, I imagine.” He smiled wryly.

“I’m sorry for frightening you,” Elihal said, one hand resting on his belly. “But pleased that you care.”

“I care a great deal,” Éibhear replied softly. “Let me take care of you?”

“I don’t need-”

“Consider it an apology for making me worry,” Éibhear interrupted. “Please. And as confirmation that I am not disgusted, nor… any less interested.”

Elihal’s face softened. “And you had the gall to wonder why _you_ ,” he murmured, a smile playing around his lips.

Éibhear wanted him to smile. He looked tired, and he held himself as though he was in pain, and Éibhear wanted to fix everything for him because…

He swallowed thickly as the thought hit him.

Because he cared a _great deal_. More than he’d expected to. Because it would have been easy to give his heart to this young, sweet elf, and because he knew he could trust Elihal to keep it safe if he did.

“I could make you dinner,” Éibhear offered.

Elihal shook his head. “I’m too sore to want to eat,” he said. “But… I have a soothing tisane, and if you’re offering to stand over it while it steeps instead of me…”

“Tell me what to do,” Éibhear responded, glad that Elihal was willing to accept his help. “And then go and make yourself comfortable in bed while I do it.”

***

Éibhear sat with his back against the wall on Elihal’s bed, holding him to his chest as he finished his tea, more content than he had been in a long time. It was nice to touch and be touched, and it was _wonderful_ to do it with someone he’d come to care so much about.

“I adore the way you smell,” Elihal said softly. “I come home here every night and check all the places I’m covered in soot and smile to myself. You leave a mark on me.”

“I’m glad it doesn’t offend you,” Éibhear responded, rubbing small, soothing circles into Elihal’s belly.

“Is it easier for you to hold me?” Elihal asked. “Now that you know?”

“I had planned to hold you tonight in any case,” Éibhear confessed softly. He was ready, and the evening he’d had so far hadn’t changed that at all.

“Oh.” Elihal shifted minutely against him, setting down his now-empty cup. “Then I am even _more_ annoyed by my body’s timing.”

Éibhear hummed softly, struggling to be quite as annoyed as Elihal was. It pained him to see this beautiful creature suffer, but he knew what this meant for a young elf. Elves who could carry children didn’t even _have_ fertility cycles unless they entered a period of experiencing regular arousal.

Elihal had been aroused, often enough to trigger this, by _him_. Had perhaps--had _likely_ \--lay in this bed and satisfied himself with Éibhear in mind, had _wanted_ him, and that thought was proving to be incredibly appealing.

“I know you must be very tender,” Éibhear said gently. “But you could… have me, without me entering you. My mouth, or my hands. I know it eases the pain a little.”

“You know,” Elihal repeated, the words lingering strangely on his tongue.

“I have had other lovers,” Éibhear said, worrying all over again that _this_ would give Elihal cause to reject him.

“And they have been very lucky,” Elihal responded. “Your hands,” he said decisively. “I don’t want to move.”

“You will have to spread your legs a little for me,” Éibhear said, reaching out to trail his fingers along the inside of Elihal’s thigh, hitching his light nightshirt up along the way.

Arousal flared up in the pit of his stomach, but he ignored it. This was for Elihal, not for him, and now _he_ would be patient.

Elihal raised his other leg to hook it over Éibhear’s, leaving them entangled, and shifting his position just enough to rest his head on Éibhear’s shoulder.

Éibhear let his fingers trail slowly up the silken skin of Elihal’s thigh, pausing to trace circles into it, words spelled out in what should have been their native tongue, barely remembered now past the haze of the awkward human language they were both forced to use every day.

Elihal cried out as Éibhear slipped his fingers between his outer folds, his whole body tensing up.

“Tender?” Éibhear asked, pausing, afraid he was only making things worse.

“Yes,” Elihal said, his voice wavering. “But please don’t stop.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Éibhear pressed his lips to Elihal’s neck as he moved his fingers again, teasing at first, feeling out where Elihal was sore and tense and massaging deep into the muscle, easing the ache away as carefully as he could.

Elihal whined and moaned under his touch, and every sound he made left Éibhear’s stomach tight with want, with _wonder_ at how incredible it was to be allowed to touch, and soothe, and bring so much pleasure to this beautiful elf who’d appeared in his life so suddenly and now felt like the brightest thing in it.

“Éibhear,” Elihal whispered, the sound little more than a sigh, and his hips rocked back against him, and into his hand, grinding eagerly in both directions as he panted for breath, arousal and need making him whimper.

Éibhear was rock hard by now, but steadfastly ignoring it in favour of holding Elihal close and concentrating on getting him off, knowing he’d feel better once he’d finished, and wanting to give him that.

He could feel Elihal getting close under his touch, slickness flowing steadily from him, his belly and thighs tight, and he focused on thumbing the little nub he knew was the most sensitive place, still pressing his fingers deep into Elihal’s soft flesh but avoiding the most tender spots, the spots he couldn’t help by touching them, reading every gasp and sigh to guide him to the right way to touch, to stroke, to add pressure or barely brush against.

Elihal came in a wonderful rush, hips arching away from Éibhear as the first wave of pleasure crested, rewarding Éibhear with soaked fingers and a heartfelt, satisfied sigh as he relaxed, boneless, against him again.

The lines of pain on his face smoothed out, his lightly-closed eyes making him look so peaceful it made Éibhear’s heart flutter.

He knew in that moment that he would come to love this man, and the thought brought him nothing but joy.

“In a moment,” Elihal said. “I will offer you the same.”

“No,” Éibhear murmured. “You will rest, and I will be entirely satisfied with having helped you. This was for _you_. I will be as patient as you have been.”

“I am not waiting another week,” Elihal said. “Not now that I’ve had a taste of you as a lover.”

“My performance was acceptable, then?” Éibhear asked, though even _he_ could tell that it had been, that Elihal had not simply pretended it was. He had no motivation to do so.

“Deserving of a standing ovation,” Elihal purred. “Forgive me for being too weak in the aftermath to give you one.”

Éibhear laughed. “As long as you feel better.”

“Much,” Elihal murmured. “Stay with me?”

“Of course.” Éibhear shifted his weight, moving Elihal as gently as he could to lay both of them down on the bed, sensing that the younger elf was eager to sleep, and definitely in need of it.

He held Elihal close, and let the sound of his breathing lull him to sleep as well.

***

Éibhear woke to Elihal kissing him with increasing urgency, and his heart felt tight in his chest, and his cock was once again _very_ interested in continuing this, so when Elihal pushed him onto his back, he moved easily.

“Good morning,” Elihal said as he plucked at the laces of Éibhear’s trousers, opening them with practiced efficiency. “I need you,” he said simply, and, well…

He was a difficult man to refuse.

“You have me,” Éibhear promised, and some part of him knew that he wasn't only talking about right now.

Elihal smiled a small, surprisingly shy smile at him that suggested he knew, as well.

Éibhear hissed as his already hard cock was exposed to the cooler air of the room, but Elihal's hand warmed him immediately, fingers curling around it, exploring the shape.

“Perfect,” he murmured, a few light strokes leaving Éibhear squirming under him.

“I could… you don't have to…”

“Oh, this isn't for your benefit,” Elihal said, a teasing smile playing around his lips. “But you have my permission to enjoy it.”

Éibhear didn't have time to object further before Elihal shifted his weight and rose up, guiding Éibhear’s cock inside him with practiced confidence, biting his lip as he sank back down.

“Gods,” Elihal gritted out, rocking his hips ever so slightly as he adjusted. He planted his hands firmly on Éibhear’s chest, fingers digging deep into the fabric of the shirt he was still wearing.

Too overwhelmed to do anything else, Éibhear let his hands rest on Elihal’s thighs, fingers just barely slipping under the hem of his nightshirt. Elihal’s body was warm, and the soft, needy sounds he was making were incredible, and Éibhear barely remembered ever being happier.

Elihal sat up nearly straight, lifting himself up to bounce on Éibhear’s cock, the bed creaking underneath them as dawn broke outside the small window, bathing them in pale golden light.

“You're beautiful,” Éibhear murmured, breathless at the sight of Elihal above him, pleasure written all over his face. His lower lip was caught between his teeth, his eyes half-lidded, harsh, panting breaths escaping him, tiny whimpers catching in his throat.

Éibhear’s heart swooped as Elihal leaned in again, crashing into his lips, and they’d never kissed before, but Éibhear knew instantly that he’d never get enough of it, that he’d want this all the time and spend his days thinking about when the next time he could kiss Elihal was. The warmth flooding his chest would become addictive, something he couldn’t live without.

He measured his breaths as Elihal ground against him, his thighs tightening around Éibhear’s waist, hands curling around his shoulders.

The last thing he wanted was to come too soon, leave Elihal unsatisfied--not that he would have, he was smart enough to know that his cock was by no means necessary to Elihal’s pleasure. Just as Éibhear was beginning to worry that he _would_ , that he was too close, Elihal’s breath hitched and a flood of slickness surrounded him, making him moan in response.

“Once more,” Elihal insisted, breathless, and ground his hips harder still, hard, shallow thrusts picking up speed until the bed shuddered under them, Elihal straightening up to ride Éibhear’s cock hard and fast, Éibhear biting his lip to stop himself from coming too soon, to slow the wave of lust and need and pleasure welling up in his belly, to… to…

His vision whited out as it all became too much, fingers tightening on Elihal’s thighs as he arched up into him, the rush of his orgasm pounding in his ears, all the way down to his cock as he finished.

Elihal’s answering sigh and satisfied grunt filtered through the aftershocks, Éibhear gasping as he felt Elihal come around him again, muscles fluttering and sending off wave after wave of almost-painful pleasure, Éibhear squirming under him as he dragged out a last few thrusts.

And then collapsed heavily on Éibhear’s chest, panting into his ear.

Éibhear really didn’t mind. He was more than capable of taking Elihal’s weight, and he was eager to savour the closeness while he caught his own breath.

His arms came up automatically, wrapping around Elihal to hold him close, long-buried protective instincts suddenly surging up inside him, the urge to keep Elihal close and safe and _his_ , if Elihal would have him, almost overwhelming.

 _Too soon_ , Éibhear reminded himself, the irony of being the one who was moving too fast this time not entirely escaping him. It was one thing to want to have casual sex with a stranger.

It was another thing entirely to fall in love, though he was beginning to think he had little choice in the matter.

“Good morning,” Elihal said after a few moments, laughter in his voice.

“Morning,” Éibhear murmured, rubbing circles into Elihal’s back through the nightshirt he was wearing. It was surprisingly simple, for a man of his level of attention to style, though it occurred to Éibhear that it might well be set aside for times like this, when it wouldn’t matter if he bled into it and couldn’t get the stain out later.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked after a moment. For him, the world had dropped away the moment he’d closed his eyes, and the next thing he knew, he was being woken up by an insistent Elihal.

It was rare--rare indeed--to sleep through the night, even in safer times.

“Wonderfully,” Elihal murmured. “You were right, by the way. It does ease the pain.”

Éibhear raised an eyebrow. “You _didn’t_ know…?”

Elihal shrugged. “It had never occurred to me. I owe you a debt.”

“Not at all,” Éibhear said. “I am glad to have been of service.”

Laughter rumbled in Elihal’s chest. He stretched on top of Éibhear, and then shuffled a little way over to curl up against his side, the two of them pressed close on the narrow bed.

“And can I rely on your services in the future?” he asked, cuddling Éibhear’s arm to his chest.

Éibhear swallowed. “I would like to continue spending time with you. If I haven’t disappointed you terribly.”

“You haven’t disappointed me at all,” Elihal said. “You have been everything I hoped for and more. Well and truly worth the wait.”

A smile spread over Éibhear’s face, his heart soaring at hearing that.

“You are _wonderful_ ,” he said, because Elihal _was_ wonderful, and he was still shocked and honoured at the chance to be close to him like this. A chance, he was sure, others would envy deeply.

“And _you_ continue to surprise and delight me every time we see one another,” Elihal murmured, yawning widely. “I will rise eventually.”

Éibhear snorted, reaching out to run his fingers through Elihal’s loose hair. “I’m in no hurry. The forge will keep.”

“I’m honoured that you think so much of me,” Elihal said, pushing his head into Éibhear’s hand, clearly enjoying the contact.

Éibhear hummed, happy to bask in the contentment of Elihal’s company and not worry, just yet, about confessing just _how_ much he thought of him.

***

As soon as Éibhear began packing up for the day, excitement began to well up in his chest. He’d been restless all day, eager to see Elihal again as soon as possible, his mind wandering endlessly back to the other elf the moment he was anything other than completely focused on a task.

Today’s work hadn’t been his best, but he didn’t _care_ , and no one was likely to notice.

A hand on the back of his neck made him jump, but Elihal’s sweet laughter soothed him immediately.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, though he was struggling to stop laughing. “I didn’t expect to startle you quite so much.”

Éibhear turned to face him, his heart still racing, though he suspected he hadn’t been _that_ frightened. His heart swelled to see Elihal up and about, beautifully dressed as ever, and apparently no longer in pain.

“I had planned on going to you,” Éibhear murmured. “You needn’t have come all this way.”

“Dandelion dropped by to see me today,” Elihal said.

Éibhear’s stomach sank. Perhaps Elihal wouldn’t have wanted his friend to know that they were… whatever they were.

“He approves of you highly,” Elihal continued beaming, and Éibhear breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t done the wrong thing.

“Oh.” Éibhear blinked, not sure how Dandelion had gotten the chance to form much of an opinion of him at all.

“Not that I would have let his opinion change mine,” Elihal said. “I’m afraid I enjoy your company far too much to give it up. I’m here to make sure you end your evening in my bed again.”

A blush warmed Éibhear’s cheeks, but he couldn’t think of a better place to end up tonight.

“Or I end mine in yours, if you prefer,” Elihal continued.

Éibhear cleared his throat. “Either would be acceptable,” he murmured, heart fluttering at the way Elihal grinned in response.

Elihal held out his hand, and Éibhear didn’t hesitate to take it.


End file.
